Skiing Gunbarrel

When I was much younger and still married to Anne, we took a ski trip to Tahoe with our close friends Darryl and Mary. Mary didn’t like to ski but she liked to gamble. Anne, Darryl and I liked to do both.

Tahoe is a scenic little town near the banks of the world’s most gorgeous lake. The gaming strip was also pretty spectacular and we stayed in fancy suites at Caesar’s Palace. Too late to ski the day we arrived, we began gambling instead.

The next morning Anne, Darryl and I took the bus to the Neveda side of the Heavenly Ski Resort, the largest ski resort in the United States. Darryl was athletic and a born skier. Anne was also good, at least better than me. Anne and I were fair intermediate skiers, Darryl almost a pro.

We sooned settled into a comfortable, if very tiring routine and it went something like this: we would gamble until two or three in the morning, and then sleep until sixish. Around seven we would meet in the coffee shop, eat breakfast and play keno until the ski bus arrived. Anne, Darryl and I would ski unti around five and then return to Caesar’s. After showering and donning clean duds we would meet for dinner around seven or eight. After dinner we would begin gambling again until two or three in the morning.

The California side of Heavenly has a black diamond run called Gunbarrel. It is steep, the moguls deep. Every evening Anne and I would take the lift down the slope and meet Darryl at the bottom. He always skied down Gunbarrel.

Every day when we met Darryl at the base of Gunbarrel he would say, “Eric, if you don’t ski down Gunbarrel at least once, you don’t have a hair on your ass.”

After the first day we discovered that Caesar’s has an excellent exercise facility (not that we needed it) that included a huge hot spa that doubled as a hidden grotto. Darryl and I soon learned that many of the showgirls participated in a dancercise class, dressed appropriately in skimpy exercise outfits. We would relax in the hot water, soothing our tormented muscles as we watched two dozen or so gorgeous showgirls practice their steps – at least until Anne and Mary found out about our secret show. Yes, they put the kibosh on our short-lived pasttime.

Our last day on the mountain, I finally took Darryl’s dare. Mary had ridden up the lift to join us and Anne rode down with her, but not before chiding me.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” she said. “You better ride down with Mary and me.”

When I stared over the precipice, saw how steep it was and how deep the moguls were, I almost acquiesed.

“You can do it,” Darryl shouted from down the slope. “Come on. I’ll meet you in the bar.”

When I nosed my skis over the ledge there was no going back. I was committed. I finally made it to the base of the slope, bruised, beat up, sweating despite the cold, but feeling every bit like the king of the world. I found Anne, Mary and Darryl waiting for me at the bar.

“You crazy SOB, you made it,” Darryl said, giving me a hug.

Anne and Mary weren’t as impressed, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads as if I had truly lost my mind. It didn’t matter. I ordered a whiskey and both Darryl and I got fairly lit by the time we took the bus back to Caesar’s.

Anne and Mary soon gave up the slot machines and went to their rooms but not before Anne reminded me that we had to pack and be ready to leave by seven the next morning. I wasn’t listening and Darryl and I were still going strong at five the next morning. I finally put all my money on the table, betting it all on one spin of the roulette wheel, praying that I would lose so that I could go to bed. Thankfully (I guess) I did.

“If you go to sleep now you’ll never get up in time to make the bus,” he warned.

“Can’t help it,” I said. “I’m done for.”

I stumbled back to our room and passed out on the bed, barely closing my eyes before Anne shook me to wake up.

“Get up,” she said. “We have to pack.”

“I can’t move,” I said. “You’ll have to leave me here.”

Anne and I never had many fights during our marriage, at least real fights. This one had to be our worst. Soon, she gave up and stalked out the door, slamming it on the way out. She went straight to Darryl and Mary’s room, returning with Darryl.

I failed to mention that Darryl had been a drill sergeant in the Army. He quickly rousted me out of bed in a command voice I remembered and still feared from my days at Fort Polk in Louisiana.

“Wilder, roll out of that damn bed. Now!”

As I dragged out of bed he was throwing my suitcase on top of it. Ripping my clothes out of the closet, he tossed them on the bed. I don’t know how we did it but we all managed to make the bus that was headed to the Reno Airport.

As we waited for our plane to arrive, we played the slots, Mary hitting the dollar jackpot just as the last boarding call was announced.

“Dammit, Mary! Come on. We’re going to get left here,” Darryl admonished.

“I’m not leaving without this money,” she said. “Get me something to put it in.”

Darryl rushed into the plane and found a couple of barf bags, the only thing he could think of on the spur of the moment. The plane waited, just barely, until Mary and Darryl squeezed through, her windfall intact.

Except for the fact that I felt like pure hell, the flight home went well and Anne was once again speaking to me by the time we touched down in Oklahoma City. It took me about two weeks to recuperate fully from that vacation. Having forgotten most of the bad parts of the trip we repeated it the following year. This time I was a year older and a little bit wiser. When it became time to leave, I was the first one packed.

Louisiana Mystery Writer